


A Fellowship of Two

by mollrach13



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Gwen, visiting nobles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 07:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15577353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollrach13/pseuds/mollrach13
Summary: Gwen is still new to Queenship and finding her voice when a visiting Lord poses a threat to the serving staff of Camelot. When Merlin is in harms way Gwen feels trapped. But she soon realises she isn't as powerless as she used to be.





	A Fellowship of Two

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shameless excuse to have Gwen fuss over Merlin and have someone look after Merlin for a change. I love their friendship and there are not enough good fics that focus on them and their relationship. Hope you enjoy.

Fellowship of Two 

Lord Cynric and the party from Wessex arrive with all the fanfare and pomp that Gwen has come to expect from visiting dignitaries. She stands on the white stone steps of the castle, her husband beside her, and desperately tries to make her smile warm. 

In many ways being Queen isn’t that much different from her past as a servant; she helps around the castle, oversees its smooth running and spends time with those she cares about. But at times like this, when the brute of a Lord Cynric is sweeping up the stone steps to the castle, smiling at her with that creeping grin and she must stand there and not hit him in the face… those times are harder. 

All she can remember when she looks at his beady eyes is the malicious look of disdain he would wear when he called a servant forth at dinner. All she can think about when he extends his beefy hand is the black eyes she had seen on multiple servant’s over the years, all coinciding with one of Cynric’s visits. All she can recall when he greets her warmly is the sneer he wore on his face whenever he addressed her when she was simply the servant of Lady Morgana. 

Gwen accepts Cynric’s kiss to her knuckles with grace, hoping that no one sees her surreptitiously wipe her hand on her dresses the moment his back is turned. Judging by the amused look Merlin sends her she wasn’t as subtle as she would have liked. 

Arthur and Cynric have turned to the crowd, addressing the gathered group of people and reaffirming their continued friendship. Gwen stops listening after a while. She heard the speech in all its iterations when Merlin was writing it and has heard it from Arthur’s mouth many times as he practiced it at all hours of the day and night. 

“Careful My Lady, your disdain is showing,” an amused voice whispers in her ear from behind. 

Gwen turns her head enough to see that Merlin has moved from his place behind Arthur’s shoulder and is looking at her with a teasing smile. 

Straightening her face, she does what she has been taught and forms her face into an expression that gives away absolutely nothing. 

“The man is a brute,” she whispers back, maintaining a blank look of indifference as Arthur moves onto the bit about ‘friends with roots in the very stones of Camelot’. 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Merlin huffs, casting a dark look at the Lord. “But his keep lies on the main trade route between here and Mercia. So, Arthur must entertain him, and listen to his waffling, and we all must pretend he is not a tyrant. Just for a few days.”

Gwen watches the side of Cynric’s head as he smiles warmly at Arthur, seeming to be listening intently to the words the King is saying. 

“Please be careful around him Merlin. Make sure the staff stay out of his way.”

“We have dealt with him well enough in all his previous visits. The system is flawless. We’ll be fine.”

That edging of trepidation that Gwen has felt ever since Cynric’s visit had been announced makes itself know, curling in her belly and tightening. 

“Merlin,” she starts to say but Arthur then shoots Merlin displeased a look and Merlin scurries back to his proper position at Arthur’s back. 

-

The men from Wessex are a large party and the castle is a whirl of chaos and movement for the afternoon as knights and Lords are settled into the guest chambers and Arthur takes counsel with Lord Cynric. Gwen busies herself organising the retinue, assigning chambers and overseeing the preparations for the feast tonight. 

When she enters Arthur’s chambers later that afternoon Arthur and Merlin are already there, the latter arranging Arthur into his formal outfit for the feast. 

“Ah, Guinevere,” Arthur greets her with a smile. “Is everyone settled in?”

“Yes, all guests are in their chambers, Cynric in the ones he requested,” she manages to say without the annoyance she feels seeping into her voice. 

“Excellent,” Arthur says absently, already looking back at Merlin and selecting one of the three belts the servant is holding out for inspection. “I got word from the Steward that Cynric did not bring his servants, so we will need to assign someone to see to him during his stay.”

Gwen tightens her jaw. It isn’t a surprise. Cynric does this every time he visits Camelot. But she had hoped that maybe this time the castle staff might be spared. 

“I’ll do it.”

Both Gwen and Arthur turn to look at Merlin with wide eyes. Both for very different reasons. Arthur recovers first. 

“You?” he asks scathingly. 

“Yes,” Merlin huffs, carefully avoiding Gwen’s gaze. “I always serve Cynric when he visits.”

“No,” Gwen cuts in hotly, glaring hard into the side of Merlin’s head. “We always do it together.”

“Well now you are Queen,” Merlin says with a shrug, shaking out Arthur’s jacket, frowning at a missing button. 

Gwen opens her mouth to argue but Arthur is already turning away from Merlin with a dismissive wave of his hand. “By all means if you are so keen to serve him.”

When Merlin ducks into the hallway, buttonless jacket in hand, Gwen quickly makes an excuse to follow. 

“Merlin,” she hisses as soon as Arthur’s chamber door is closed. “You cannot serve him alone.”

“Of course, I can Gwen,” Merlin says with a careless shrug. “You are worrying far too much.”

“You are not worrying nearly enough!”

“I will do what we always do; ply him with wine at dinner so he is too sloshed to walk in a straight line, let alone throw things arcuately. I can do that well enough on my own.”

Gwen huffs a frustrated breath out through her nose. How does she explain that the thought of Merlin being alone in that man’s chambers without her waiting fretfully in the hallway makes her quiver with panic? That she knows it doesn’t make any sense, that Merlin is used to dealing with him on his own. He has done ever since he first realised what Lord Cynric was like to servants and actually used his position as the Prince’s servant for once and ordered that no other servants were to see to Cynric other than him. 

But Gwen had always found comfort in being right there, ready to jump in and help should it be needed. Tonight, she won’t be able to do that. She will be shut up in Arthur’s chambers reading or stitching, absently wasting the rest of the night time hours before it was time to sleep. It makes her want to curse the crown on her head. 

“We should at least tell Arthur,” she reasons. “It is different now that Uther isn’t around. He could do something to help.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I don’t even want to start unravelling the reasons why that is a terrible idea.” 

The door to the chambers opens, making Gwen jump. Arthur startles slightly when he sees his servant and wife stood in the hallway right outside his chambers but rally’s quickly. 

“Merlin, stop standing around gossiping with your Queen and get my jacket fixed.” 

And then Merlin is gone, scurrying down the hallway and away. 

-

Dinner is a grand affair as Camelot pulls out all the stops to show the men of Wessex how powerful and successful Camelot is. The hall is hung with garlands and banners of arms and every member of the serving staff is on hand. 

Gwen sits elegantly in her high chair next to Arthur, decked out in her finest gown. Thankfully Lord Cynric sits on the opposite side of Arthur, leaving Gwen free to converse with Leon and Elyan. 

The dinner goes well enough. There are the obligatory toasts and various courses, all designed to showcase the bountiful harvest Camelot benefited from last season. All the while Merlin hovers behind the Royal table, a jug of wine in hand just waiting to be called. 

Eventually Arthur beckons his servant forward, gesturing to his empty goblet. Merlin stumbles forward and dutifully fills Arthur’s cup before turning to Cynric. 

“Wine my Lord?” Merlin mumbles quietly, already leaning forward to fill up Cynric’s goblet. 

“No,” the Lord barks, placing a firm hand over the top of his empty cup. “Thank you,” he tacks on the end belatedly. 

Merlin sends Gwen a subtle, confused frown from his partially bowed position. 

“Are you sure Lord Cynric?” Gwen asks sweetly. “It is an excellent vintage.”

“Thank you my lady but I will have to decline,” the Lord says with a smile, and a much warmer tone. “Wine has not been my friend these last years. Under my wife’s urging I have given up the habit.”

Arthur nods in feigned approval, even as he shares a raised eyebrow with Merlin who returns it with a smirk and retreats back to the shadows of the room. Arthur has already delved into a conversation on battle tactics with Sir Leon, but Gwen notices the troubled frown on Merlin’s face. 

Merlin catches her eye, his normally cheerful face marred with a calculating grimace. Gwen wishes for a moment that she were back in servitude again, that she could stand at Merlin’s side and talk him out of whatever idiotic plan he is concocting. But then Elyan calls her name and when she turns back Merlin has already turned away. 

Gwen waits with trepidation for Arthur to stand and announce the royal couple’s retirement. She itches to get up and just do…. Something. All this sitting is making her jittery. But eventually Arthur does, and they stand together, sweeping from the room with Lord Cynric and an army of servants. 

In the hallway Arthur bids Cynric a goodnight and the Lord nods his farewell before marching off towards the guest quarters. 

Merlin, the sneak, tries to get passed her in Arthur’s shadow but she is too fast for him. She reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him back a few steps. “You cannot be planning on serving him tonight?”

“What choice do I have?” Merlin hisses back just as fiercely. “He’s expecting me. And if I don’t go he will just pick on the next passing servant and be even more unpleasant than usual. Would you want Milly serving him? Or little Bart?”

Gwen sighs in frustration because no she does not want that, and Merlin knows it. Cynric would chew them and spit them back out. 

“Look,” Merlin sighs, gripping her shoulder with a comforting hand. “Just go and enjoy your night with Arthur. I will be fine.”

“Guinevere?” Arthur voice comes around the corner peering back at them. When he sees his wife and servant huddled in the corridor he sighs impatiently. “Merlin would you stop pestering my wife and get to work?” 

Merlin nods quickly and uses Gwen’s distraction to slip free of her grasp. Before she can even open her mouth he is gone. 

-

Gwen normally loves evenings like this. When it is just her and Arthur in their chambers. No feasts, no battles, no war. Just the roaring of the fire, a good book and a goblet of wine. But tonight she cannot relax. Her mind is far away in the North East wing of the castle…

“Are you alright Guinevere?”

Arthur’s voice startles her and she blinks away from her stare into the fire. He is looking at her from his desk, his brow creased in mild concern and she forces a smile onto her face. It is a weak smile and she knows it.

“I’m just tired I think,” she says kindly, swirling the fine wine in her goblet around. It is her favourite wine; sweet and full and fine. But tonight it sits heavily in her stomach. 

“Why don’t you go to bed? I have to finish this,” he says gesturing to the pile of papers before him, “but that doesn’t mean that you can’t retire.”

She can’t possibly think about going to sleep until Merlin comes to prepare Arthur’s chambers for sleep. As soon as she has seen him - bumbling and cheeky as always – then she will go to bed. But she can’t explain that to Arthur without telling him why and she can’t tell him why. 

Oh how she desperately wants to talk to him though. But it isn’t just Merlin’s protest that holds her tongue. Sometimes she feels as if a veil has been drawn between the life she leads now and the girl she was before. She isn’t sure if Arthur put it there or she did but it is there now and she doesn’t quite know how to part it. 

Arthur is still looking at her and Gwen realises she hasn’t answered but a knock at the door draws his attention. They both frown because Merlin is the only person they are expecting this evening and he never knocks. 

“Enter,” Arthur calls, already standing from his desk. Then Betsy, the kitchen maid, pokes her head around the royal chamber doors. 

The small girl looks absolutely terrified to be in the Royal Chambers and even more scared at being in the presence of the King. But she stares around the chambers until her eyes land on Gwen. 

“Yes girl?” Arthur asks, not unkindly when Betsy doesn’t speak. Betsy blinks away from Gwen to stare at Arthur’s shoes. 

“Um… Cook wanted me to tell you that the Venison for tomorrow is no good. It will be Hen instead.”

“Well of course that’s fine,” Arthur says, already turning back to his desk. “Tell her there is no need to send you all the way up here for something like that in the future. Merlin can just tell me when he comes by later.”

“Merlin has been held up. He…” Betsy starts to say, her wide eyes flicking back to Gwen. “He is busy fixing barrels in the winery.”

The worry in Gwen’s gut, that had been festering all evening, suddenly lurches. Because no servants ‘fix barrels in the winery’. No one touches the wine barrels apart from the Keeper of the Stores. And that exact phrase was one that Gwen and Merlin always used to use to get each other out of chores they didn’t want, to cover with Arthur and Morgana… or to signal trouble. 

Arthur, of course, knows none of this. He huffs, plopping back down into his desk chair. “At this time of night? Very well, just send someone to tend to the fires later. And have someone bring more wine, we are almost out.”

“I’ll get that Arthur,” Gwen says hurriedly, standing abruptly from her seat by the fire. 

“Guinevere, you have had a long day. We have a castle full of servants whose job it is to fetch wine. Sit and relax.”

But Gwen is already walking towards the door, ushering Betsy in front of her. “I should speak to Cook as well,” she says over her shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

As soon as the chamber door is closed behind them Betsy sags, relief evident in her wide brown eyes. 

“Oh thank you my lady,” she gushes. “I didn’t know who else to go to!”

“No you did the right thing,” Gwen says quickly, leading the girl forward. “Where is he?”

Betsy leads onwards at a rush and Gwen ignores all courtly etiquette as she gathers her skirts and runs in the maid’s wake. 

The castle corridors are silent at this time of night yet they take a few of the lesser known servant’s corridors until they spill out into the main walkway to the Royal Kitchens. They rush around a corner only to be met with the stern countenance of Gretel, the Royal Cook. 

The broad woman stands with her arms crossed, candle in hand and a hard face which immediately melts into relief when she sees Gwen and Betsy rounding the corner. 

“Oh Gwen,” woman sighs. “I mean My Lady,” she finishes with a small curtsey. 

Gwen waves her away, “None of that Gretel.” There are more important things to be concerned with right now that court etiquette. “What happened?”

“What always happens. That so-called Lord is a blight on this castle and this kingdom,” Gretel says with passion, glancing down the narrow passage that leads from the main walkway. “He’s tended to himself but won’t go back to his chambers. Fears waking Gaius and worrying him.”

Gwen nods and gives the woman’s thick arm a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry I will see to him.”

The servant’s passage that leads off the main corridor is narrow but wide enough for two to walk abreast. The warm glow of the flaming torches doesn’t reach down here but the space is lit by a few arched windows which cast the hallway in a white blue light. Gwen holds Gretel’s candle aloft, expertly moving around the stacks of crates and boxes that litter the unused walkway.

When her light reaches Merlin she gasps. The servant is sat on the floor, his back and head leaning against the white stone wall and his face is tipped up to the moonlight highlighting the growing bruise high on his cheek bone and the bloodied lip. 

“Merlin!” she gasps, forgetting her careful walk and rushing forward. 

He looks up then, noticing that he is not alone, and groans. “Gwen. I told them I was fine. There was no need to interrupt your evening.”

“Oh Merlin look at you,” she sighs, ignoring him and dropping to her knees beside him. She brings her hand up to cup at his cheek but he winces and pulls way sharply. It is then that she sees the matted blood in his dark hair as well. “What did he do to you?”

Merlin snorts and tries to avoid her probing fingers. “Nothing terribly imaginative,” he says with a shrug. “Knocked me about a bit. Threw some things.”

Gwen seems to find the source of the bleeding on Merlin’s scalp as he hisses and her fingers come away thick with blood. Her wide eyes find those of Betsy and Gretel still hovering in the corridor behind them. “Get me some cloth and water. Quickly,” she commands and the young girl scurries off quickly. 

Her gaze is back on Merlin in an instant who is looking back at her with amused exasperation. “There’s no need for all that,” he says with a gesture. “I said I was fine”.

Gwen offers him an unimpressed look. “You’re bleeding.”

“Head wounds bleed a lot,” he shrugs. “You just have to let them run their course.”

“And if you go back to Gaius in the morning with dried blood through you hair? Is Gaius not going to question where it has come from? At least let me clean it.”

Her argument seems to remove a layer of his obstinacy as he allows her fingers to run gentle motions over his scalp and neck. Finding no other injury there she sits back. 

“What else?” 

Because the way his is holding himself tells her he is in pain, and not just from a head wound. At her level glare he just sighs and gestures vaguely to his back. 

“Just my back. Hit the floor quite hard a couple of times.”

Not willing to take his word for it she levers him forward, noticing his suppressed wince and the tight set to his mouth as she does so. When she finally lifts the thin layer of his tunic at his back she cannot hold back her gasp. 

His entire back is covered in small scraps and abrasions, like he had been dragged along the floor. A large impressive bruise is already forming across his protruding shoulder blades and there, right in the middle of his spine, is a red mark in the suspicious shape of a boot print. 

She pulls back with wide eyes only to be met with Merlin’s rueful smile. 

“He was very upset,” he explains with a shrug. 

That attitude more than anything is what finally gets her angry. That Merlin thinks this is OK, that it is just something that happens, that it is the way it has to be. Maybe that was true once but she is the Queen now. Her husband is the King. She finally has the power to make sure that this does not happen anymore. 

“Merlin, you have to let me tell Arthur!”

Merlin rolls his eyes and pulls his tunic roughly back down over himself, covering the evidence beneath its thin protection. “No”. 

“Please Merlin,” Gwen pleads, grabbing onto one of Merlin’s hands. “If not for you then think of others. What happens one day when you are not free to serve him and Arthur sends some poor unwitting maid to serve his dinner? Then what?”

“Gwen,” Merlin sighs, extracting his hand from her grasp and enclosing her hands with his own. “There is more at stake here than a few bruises that will heal.” He ignores her indignant squeak at that. “If you tell Arthur-“

“Tell Arthur what?”

Gwen’s eyes widen at that familiar voice and she watches Merlin’s face drain of what little colour it has. She twists her head around so quickly it takes a moment for her eyesight to adjust. When it does she sees Arthur stood in the corridor behind her, still in his sleep tunic and trousers, hands on his hips and looking every bit regal and impatient. 

That all changes the moment he gets his eyes on Merlin. 

“Merlin?” Arthur whispers in disbelief. Suddenly the King is gone and instead is replaced with a worried friend. Unthinking of royal protocol Arthur charges forward and crouches on the floor before his servant. Gwen watches him rake his eyes over Merlin’s form, no doubt cataloguing his injuries the way only a seasoned warrior could. 

Whatever he reads is obviously not good. His jaw tightens and Gwen can read the roaring anger in the scrunch of his eyebrows and the tight set of his mouth. 

“Merlin. Who did this to you?”

It is a demand for an answer, not a question. Without speaking Gwen and Merlin share a look. A thousand words are said in that look but Arthur is not in the mood to be delayed. With a look back and forth between the old friends Arthur growls. 

“Tell me now!” 

In the end Merlin sighs and sags even further into the floor in defeat. 

“Cynric,” he says tiredly. 

Arthur looks confused for a moment. “Lord Cynric of Wessex?” 

“That’s the one,” Merlin sighs in response. 

Arthur opens his mouth to speak but Betsy appears at that moment with a bowl of steaming warm water and a cloth. She falters as she turns into the corridor at seeing the King kneeling in the walkway too but Gwen beckons her forward. 

“What is that for?” Arthur asks as Gwen settles the bowl to the floor and begins dipping the corner of the cloth into the liquid. 

“He has a head wound,” Gwen explains. “I need to clean the blood.”

“Head wound?!” Arthur barks then turns his wide eyes on Merlin. “What the hell did you do Merlin?”

“Me?” Merlin squawks in indignation. 

“Yes you! Cynric has been visiting the castle for years with no incident then you serve him one evening and turn him into a tyrant!”

Gwen isn’t sure whether it is look of genuine hurt that crosses Merlin’s face, or the unconcealed worry in Arthur’s eyes, or the increasingly crimson tint to the water as she cleans Merlin’s wound. But whatever it is snaps her patience. 

“It’s not just tonight!” she says harshly cutting off whatever else Arthur had opened his mouth to say. 

He flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing before he settles on; “What?”

“It is not just tonight,” she explains more steadily. “Cynric has always been like this. With all the servants.”

“No he hasn’t,” Arthur argues, a confused frown marring his face. “He has been visiting the castle for years with no incident!”

“Because Merlin and I made sure there wasn’t.”

Arthur looks back and forth between Gwen and Merlin. “What do you mean?”

Gwen looks at her husband and at the hurt and confused look on his face and falters. She doesn’t know how to explain this to him. As always Merlin comes to her rescue. 

“She means that we would make sure I served him and then pile him with enough wine throughout the night that even I could dodge his blows.”

“But,” Arthur splutters. “Why wasn’t I told? Why didn’t the steward…”

“Because he was your Father’s oldest friend,” Merlin says tiredly. “What servant in their right mind is going to speak out against him?”

Gwen sighs and looks at her husband’s tangled face with pity. “Merlin and I came up with a system to serve him and keep each other safe. And keep the other servants safe from him too. It always worked but-“

“But he apparently decided to stop drinking,” Merlin huffs then winces as Gwen’s hand gets closer to the sight of his head wound. 

Arthur is still looking back and forth between Gwen and Merlin, his confused face merging into incredulity. “So all these years… You two… What the hell were you thinking?!”

Gwen draws herself up at the reprimand, staring straight into Arthur’s eyes. “We were the servants of the highest ranking Lord and Lady in the castle. That means that we had a responsibility over the staff.”

“I’m not going to let some poor defenceless maid wander into his bedchamber,” Merlin scoffs. 

“And I wasn’t about to let Merlin wander in without someone watching out for him.”

Arthur opens his mouth to respond but them Gretel shifts in her place as guard and Arthur’s mouth clicks shut. A bland mask is brought down over his angry face though there is no masking the heat in his eyes. 

“This is not a conversation to be had in the hallways,” he says regally, pushing himself to standing. “Come on up. Back to our chambers.”

-

Once Merlin is placed into an armchair by the fire Arthur pours himself a glass of wine and stares into the flickering flames. Gwen pays him little mind and fusses about Merlin who tries to wave off her probing fingers. 

The bruised cheek has darkened but the bloody lip has dried. After Gwen forces Merlin to drink a swig of wine she wipes away the vestiges of blood from his face. But he is still in pain, she can tell even with his practice at hiding it as he sits in Arthur’s opulent armchair as gingerly as possible. 

It is when she is on her knees before Merlin’s chair, expertly cleaning the defensive wounds on his hands that Arthur finally speaks. 

“Why did you never tell me? Either of you?”

His voice is sombre and hurt. Merlin sends her a quick meaningful look telling her this is exactly why he didn’t want Arthur to know before he looks at the hunched back of his King.

“Because when your Father was alive it would have put you in an impossible position and now…”

“And now I have no idea,” Gwen says with a huff, poking Merlin in the knee. “I wanted to but Merlin refused.”

“I didn’t refuse,” he says sullenly. “I simply pointed out there may be political ramifications to Arthur bludgeoning the Lord of Wessex around the head when he learns that he used to torment his wife.”

Arthur’s turns a horrified stare to her immediately and she pokes Merlin in the knee again in warning. 

“He never touched me,” she says, with a reassuring smile to Arthur. “Merlin would never have allowed it. But I spent enough time in his presence to learn that he is not a man to be trifled with.”

Arthur’s eyes swing to Merlin then. “Did he…”

Arthur seemingly doesn’t know how to voice that question but as usual Merlin reads his mind. The servant shrugs. 

“A slap there, a thrown goblet here. But luckily I am well trained at dodging those.”

He says the last part with a humorous smirk but Arthur does not seem to find the amusement in the situation. If anything he becomes more sombre. Merlin throws her a helpless look. She sighs and stands. 

“Arthur I know he is an ally to you and you have known him many years. But this is my castle too now. And I don’t want him here.”

“Gwen,” Merlin groans long suffering. Like she’s the one being ridiculous. She looks at him, bruised cheek and split lip, and her resolved hardens. 

“No I won’t allow it,” she says fiercely. “Look what he did to you! And he would have done that every night of every visit he ever made here if he had had the chance and you know it.”

Merlin just rolls his eyes. “Arthur tell her.”

“No,” Arthur says, nodding in confirmation. “She’s right.”

He says slowly, it like it’s an epiphany and the helpless look in his eyes - that had been there since he saw Merlin beaten and bloodied - starts to recede. 

Merlin looks even more bewildered and Gwen is sure he would have stood if it had not been for her restraining hand on his shoulder. “Arthur think about this,” he urges but Arthur’s jaw tightens and he squares his shoulders. 

And Gwen finally, finally relaxes. Because she has seen that look on her husband often enough to know that nothing Merlin can say now will change his mind. 

Arthur shakes his head and downs the remaining contents of his goblet. “I will not have a man here, as a guest in my castle, who thinks it is OK to treat my servants with such disrespect!”

Merlin opens his mouth to argue but Arthur quells it with a look. 

“Guinevere, please make sure that he doesn’t injure himself further. I will be back in a moment.”

With no more warning Arthur sweeps from the room. Merlin, the idiot, tries to stand to follow, only to be pushed back into his seat by Gwen’s firm hand. 

“Let him go.”

“But Gwen-“

“He needs to do something to fix this. Let him have that. And let him get rid of the brute once and for all.”

-

When Arthur returns to the chambers some time later Merlin has fallen asleep in the chair. The combination of a long day followed by an eventful evening apparently taking at toll on his body. Gwen had placed one of Arthur’s blankets over his body, tucking the edges around his form to keep the heat in. 

Gwen looks up from her seat on the floor by Merlin’s feet, her head resting against one of his knees and catches Arthur looking at them with someone akin to fondness in his gaze. 

“How is he?” Arthur asks when he catches her eye. 

Gwen sighs at looks up at Merlin’s face. The firelight catches on his high cheekbone as his face has lolled against the armchair back. The flickering orange light extenuates its shape and highlights the darkening mark across the arch. 

“He will have some impressive marks for a while,” she says with a sigh. “But he will live.”

Arthur makes his way over to the fireplace quietly, shedding his boots and dropping elegantly to the skin before the hearth. Gwen watches as he stares into the flickering flames, seemingly lost in thought. His right fist is unconsciously opening and closing, the skin across the knuckles red and slightly scraped. 

Gwen doesn’t offer to clean it. She knows that Arthur would not allow it tonight. He will want to feel the burn for a little while at least. 

“He will be gone by morning,” Arthur says eventually, still looking into the fire. “We will not see him again in this castle while I reign.”

Gwen knows better that to say thank you. Arthur didn’t do this for her. They lap into silence once more, only the crackling of the fire and Merlin’s soft sleep breaths sounding in the chambers. 

“I cannot believe he kept this from me,” Arthur says quietly, almost to himself. “He’s always complaining about… everything. But this – something that I could have done something about – he keeps from me?”

Gwen sighs and watches the firelight gleam off Arthur’s face. “Servants keep a lot of secrets from their masters Arthur.”

“Why?” 

“For most servants it is simply the way things are done. Merlin… he keeps them to protect you.”

Arthur huffed. “I don’t need protection from my idiotic manservant.”

“That is what all masters think but it is hardly ever true.”

They lapse into silence then, both with their eyes on the fire in the hearth. Merlin’s leg is a warm presence at her side and she rests her head back on his knee, taking comfort in his stillness. 

She will have to wake him soon. He can’t sleep in a chair the entire night, especially with the injuries to his back. But for a moment she is content to stay here and breath in the calm for a moment. Merlin will be fine. And after Arthur’s intervention neither of them, not any of the castle staff, will ever have to worry about Lord Cynric again. 

For the first time she realises that she has done something meaningful tonight. Her voice, however late she had been in speaking, has made a difference. Just the simple act of her speaking has brought about a change in the castle. 

Perhaps it is small, but it is meaningful to her and will benefit many generations that move through the staff. People like Merlin who will never speak up for themselves. Who will take the weight of another onto themselves and never ask for aid. Who has learnt the hard way that those in power hardly ever take those below them seriously, let alone listen to their plights. 

Her resolve hardens then to never stay silent again. There are still many in the Kingdom, and the castle, without a voice. Arthur may be the champion of the Kingdom but maybe she could be their champion.


End file.
